


walked into the room (you made my eyes burn)

by madameofmusic



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25819324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madameofmusic/pseuds/madameofmusic
Summary: Elliott Witt is having a Bit Of A Dilemma. Bloodhound in tight jeans is not helping.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Comments: 4
Kudos: 87





	walked into the room (you made my eyes burn)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from, unfortunately, Blue Jeans by Lana Del Rey

Mostly, Elliott Witt did not regret befriending Bloodhound. The hunter is kind, courteous, they laugh at even the most terrible of Elliott's jokes, and are terrifyingly competent at damn near everything they do.

They're also one of the single hottest people Elliott has ever seen, which is proving to be a _bit_ of an issue. 

See, somewhere between introducing himself on the training range to a silent, masked figure he'd heard the wildest rumors about, to now, Bloodhound had become comfortable with him. First, they’d removed their mask when it was just the pair of them in Elliott's apartment. Then, they'd come over to Elliott's room on the dropship in a baggy hoodie and frayed sweatpants.

The _problem_ is that they're currently dressed in a tighter pair of pants than Elliott would have ever guessed they'd own, and they have an ass that Elliott has to recite old physics equations under his breath to distract himself from.

It doesn't help that they're currently pressed up next to him in a crowded bar, drink in one hand as they explain… _something_ to him. He'd lost the plot about five minutes after they'd walked in wearing _those jeans_ , and Elliott was only pretending that he was paying attention.

In reality, he was debating whether or not the zipper was too tight to pull down with just his teeth alone. 

Bloodhound nudges him. "Mirage?"

Elliott blinks. "That's the name, don't wear it out."

Bloodhound smiles, rolling their eyes. "I asked you what you thought about the new legend."

Elliott licks his lips. "Loba?" Bloodhound nods, arching an eyebrow, trying to figure him out and why he's being so weird. "She's fine."

Bloodhound snorts. "I would have thought you'd be halfway into an ill-advised plan to woo her by now."

Elliott's laugh gets caught in his throat as he smiles ruefully. "Nah, not my type." Truthfully, since halfway through Revenant's season, which was a few months past finally getting Bloodhound to trust him enough to talk to him outside of training and the ring, he'd fallen for _them_ _,_ hard.

Bloodhound's friendly smile transforms into a disbelieving smirk. "Not your type?" They press the inside of their wrist to Elliott's forehead, which only serves to bring them even closer. "Are you feeling okay?"

Elliott feels the back of his neck flush, and thanks whatever gods may be listening that the bar is poorly lit. He laughs, and waves Bloodhound's hand away. "Yeah, I'm fine, Hound."

Bloodhound drops their hand, and takes a sip from their drink, considering. "What _is_ your type, then? Surely, it must be women as beautiful as Loba. Perhaps she is too… scary?" They're teasing him, he knows it, but all he can think is _You, you, you, my type is you. You're terrifying and it's so hot I don't know what to_ do.

Elliott shrugs instead of answering. "Dunno. Maybe I've just been focusing more on the games."

Bloodhound's head tips back as they laugh heartily, their bottle of some fruity ale or something tipping dangerously. "You? _Focus?_ On the _games?_ "

Elliott sticks his tongue out at them. "I'm just as serious of a competitor as you are, Hound."

They pat his cheek, and then lay their hand on his shoulder, a friendly gesture he's grown used to by now, but with a few drinks in him, and the press of the bar crowd around them forcing Bloodhound close to him, it does funny things to his head. "I know, Mirage. I am teasing."

Elliott flicks his eyes up at their smiling face, and then away to the back of the bar, where the bartender is busily hopping between customers. When he looks back, the look Bloodhound is giving them is considering, their sharp, green eyes narrowed in contemplation. 

"What?"

They shake their head, blinking away the look. "I am… trying to figure out what has got you in such an odd mood tonight."

_You, your ass in those jeans, the way I could pull you down and kiss you so easily,_ his mind supplies. He raises his arms, gesturing wildly. "I don't know what you mean. I'm the same as always, having a grand old time with my buddy, Bloodhound."

Bloodhound licks their lips, and hums, a little disbelieving. Before they can say anything else, someone shoves past Mirage, making him stumble into Bloodhound's chest, and closing what little space there was left between them. "Ah, shit, sorry," he says, attempting to step back, but the crowd has already shifted back and taken his space. 

Bloodhound raises an eyebrow, smirk playing at the edges of their lips. "What?" Elliott asks.

Bloodhound shakes their head. "Nothing." They lick their lips, and then set their bottle down on a nearby cocktail table, empty. "Do you want to dance?"

Elliott blinks, surprised. In all the times he's dragged them to clubs, they've never once agreed to dance with him, much less asked _first._ "Yeah of course!" He grabs Bloodhound's elbow, and tugs them towards the dance floor, where the throng of people is moving in time to the music. 

Bloodhound presses close to him, their broad frame creating just enough space for them to move awkwardly. Elliott might laugh were he not so enamored of how uncomfortably concentrated they looked. He leans in, Bloodhound's chin dipping down to catch the words Elliott has to half-yell at them. "Loosen up!"

They pull a face, their nose scrunched up. Elliott laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. "C'mon, don't be so stiff. It's easier than the ring!"

Bloodhound snorts, shaking their head in disagreement. A woman shoves up behind them with her group of friends, once again forcing them closer to Elliott than he'd ever even dreamt of. Elliott catches them, palms flat on their upper arms, their fingers catching him at his elbows. "Sorry it's so packed!" Elliott says into their ear.

They pull back enough to give Elliott a look. Or, rather, to look him up and down, slowly, in a way that makes his blood go warm, his skin tingly. "I don't mind," they say, just loud enough for Elliott to hear.

Elliott laughs awkwardly, lifting his hands off of them. "We can go somewhere else. There's another bar down the street—"

Their hands stay on his elbows, if anything gripping him a little tighter. "I don't mind," they repeat.

Elliott meets their eyes, finding an emotion he can't quite put a name too, but that _does_ settle something warm in his gut. "Okay."

He struggles for a moment, trying to decide where to put his hands, before mentally saying _fuck it_ , and wrapping them around their neck. "Like this," he says, and begins to guide them in a shuffle that would make his Mom laugh at him for how bad his dancing is. 

They don't seem to mind though, comfortable with letting him lead. They dance together, chest to chest, talking quietly for what feels like hours, but is probably, at most, forty-five minutes. 

Then the DJ puts on a slow song, and the people who aren't coupled up trickle off the dance floor for refills and cool downs. Elliott, suddenly aware that they're still pressed together without the need to be so close anymore, feels a sudden rush of awkwardness. He fakes a yawn. "Do you wanna get out of here?"

Bloodhound stares at him for a second, then shrugs. "I am not against it."

Elliott nods, and leads the way out of the bar, lifting a hand at the bartender in thanks as he walks by. 

The cool night air rushes through the open doors, and Elliott shivers. "It was hot in there."

Bloodhound nods, keeping pace with Elliott as he strides down the street. "And loud."

"And loud," Elliott agrees. "So, uh, I know we're a ways away from the Apex complex. You can crash at my apartment if you want?"

Bloodhound shrugs again. "If you will have me."

Elliott smiles at them, and waves down a cab. "Duh."

They order a pizza, and split it between them, the hunger from the training that morning, and the partying all evening catching up to them. 

They're sitting on Elliott's couch, some cooking show Bloodhound had picked out while Elliott was calling the pizza place playing at half volume on the wide flatscreen on his wall. "Mirage," they say, tilting their head towards them.

Elliott, enraptured by the way in which the cook on the screen is fucking up his dish in unimaginable ways, simply grunts in response.

He feels them move closer, and flicks his eyes towards them. "Mirage," they say again, leaning towards him.

Elliott turns his face, and they're closer than they were even in the packed-in atmosphere of the bar. The sound of the TV is drowned out by the sudden noise of blood rushing in his ears as he stares at them. "Uh, yeah?" He says, cursing his sudden loss of verbosity. 

"Can I kiss you?" His mind blanks, and he freezes, for one beat, two.

Bloodhound pulls back, frowning. "I'm sorry, I misinter—"

"No!" Elliott says, wiping his palms on his jeans and reaching out to them. "I mean yes. Yes, you can kiss me. Please?" His voice _squeaks_ at the end, and he curses at himself.

Bloodhound watches him carefully for a second, seemingly making sure that Elliott has not, in fact, gone crazy, and leans back in. Their hand cups his cheek, other coming to rest on the couch behind him as they lean in.

Elliott meets them halfway, palms pressed to their chest, and _sighs_ when their lips meet his.

They break away for a brief moment to chuckle, mumbling something that sounds _suspiciously_ like "cute" before leaning back in.

They kiss like they hunt, careful, thorough, and within the span of five minutes, Elliott thinks he's about 90% of the way to falling apart.

They pull back again, and Elliott stifles a whine in the back of his throat. They laugh softly, smiling at him. "Hang on," they mumble as they shift, and then suddenly…

Suddenly, Elliott Witt has a lapful of the hottest person he's ever met, who's staring down at him with what looks dangerously like both heated desire, and what Elliott swears is a decent amount of affection. "Okay?"

Elliott nods, words failing him yet again as they lean back down, bracketing him to the back of the couch with a hand on either side of his head. His hands find purchase in their hair, twining strands of beautiful dark ginger in between his fingers as he lets out a breathy, half-moan, the feel of their tongue licking at his mouth sending heat straight to his dick.

They pull back, and stare at him, caressing his cheek softly with the pad of their thumb. For the moment, he's happy to be stared at, and to finally get the chance to stare unabashedly back, but he speaks up not long after. 

"So. Why?"

They frown, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "Why what?"

Elliott reaches up a hand to their face, smoothing their brow with his thumb gently. "Why this? Now?"

It's Bloodhound's turn to blink in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Elliott trails off, trying to find the right word. "I didn't know you were interested in me?"

Bloodhound's expression morphs into shock, and then amusement. "I've been attempting to seduce you for weeks. This was my last ditch effort. I was hoping you just hadn't noticed." They ghost calloused fingertips down the side of his face, and tilt his jaw upwards into another kiss.

Elliott gapes at them when they pull back. "Uh, yeah, hadn't noticed."

They scoff, and lean down to trail kisses from the corner of his mouth, down his jaw, before nipping at his earlobe. "You think I dress like this for everyone?"

Elliott's breath catches in his throat. "I…" he stammers, hands coming up to rest on their waist. "I uh. No? Ideally not?"

They lean back just enough to look at him, though if Elliott leaned forward even just a centimeter, their noses would be touching. "No, Mirage. I do not. These jeans are… less than comfortable. But I had hoped—"

He cuts them off. "Consider me seduced," he says, leaning in to give them the barest peck. "I couldn't stop thinking about taking them off of you all night."

"Oh?" They hum, leaning back in for another kiss, this one slightly more heated than before.

"Yes, but I… assumed you were just? Feeling yourself?"

They laugh, head tilting backwards, and Elliott thinks _beautiful, gorgeous, holy shit._ "No, Mirage—"

"Elliott."

"Elliott. I didn't wear these because I was…" They grin. "Feeling myself."

Elliott's fingers tap against their hips, and he grins back at them. "I see."

"You were thinking of taking them off?"

"Sure was," he says, not embarrassed in the slightest, now that he knows where this is headed. "I was trying to decide if they would be too tight to take off with my teeth."

Their cheeks flush, their mouth falling open in a silent _oh._ "I…" they trail off, small smile playing at their lips. "We can certainly test that."

Elliott grins wider. "Yeah?"

Bloodhound meets his eyes, and nods, leaning back in. "Yes," they mumble into the beginning of a kiss. "We can even practice until you get it right."

Elliott laughs, warm, happy, at least content with the idea that they're attracted to them, even if he knows that doesn't necessarily mean they feel the same as he does. But fuck it, it's a good start. "I've heard I'm a quick study."

The next morning, soft sun shines through the cracks in Elliott's blinds, falling on a still-sleeping Elliott, and Bloodhound, who has been watching him with a soft expression, fingers carding through his hair. 

Elliott stirs, and blinks awake. "Oh, you're not a dream."

They smile at him, and shake their head. "Not a dream."

He smiles, eyes closing again as he hums contentedly. "Good. I hate waking up from good dreams and finding out they're not real."

They press a gentle kiss to the bridge of his nose, making him scrunch up his face and huff out a laugh. "Elliott, I want you to know…"

He opens his eyes again, frowning at their serious tone. _Please don't say it was a mistake_ _,_ he thinks. "Yeah?"

They chew on their bottom lip, considering. "This isn't…" they hum, and his stomach drops. 

"Hound, if you're gonna say you regret it, please just spit it out," he says, already resigned to this experience being chalked up to fun, but not worth staying around longer than the morning after for, which he is painfully used to.

They look at him with shock, and sit up fully in the bed, sheet pooling at their waist. "Mirage, Elliott. No." They run their fingers through their hair, shaking their head. "Quite the opposite. I was hoping…"

They trail off, and he watches them, careful to not let too much hope bloom in his chest. _Quite the opposite?_

"I was hoping this was… not just a, a fling? For you?" They finally say, looking at him, and then flicking their gaze away nervously.

He sits up on his knees and moves closer to them, taking one of their hands in his own. "Hound, no. I don't. I wouldn't." He pauses, letting himself have a moment to collect his thoughts before starting again. "I want to keep doing this, in whatever way you want that to be. If it's just… fun, for you, fine. Or if you want more..."

He doesn't dare to look at them, instead focusing on the way his thumb brushes over their knuckles. They tilt his chin up to meet their eyes. "No."

He frowns. "What?"

"I…" they trail off, and then intertwine their fingers with his. "I would like this to be… more. If you are willing."

Elliott nods vigorously. "Fuck yeah I am."

They laugh, and the tension bleeds out of the room. "Good. You make me feel… comfortable. I wouldn't wish to lose that."

Elliott pulls their hand up to his mouth, and presses a gentle kiss on their knuckles. "You won't. I feel the same."

They smile and lean forward. He meets them in the middle for a kiss. "Good." They pull back, and smile at him. He smiles dopily back, hands still tangled together. "I'm… glad."

"Me too, babe." They pull a face at the pet name. He snorts. "Uh, honey? Darling? Sweetpea?"

They shake their head. "We'll work on that."

He leans in for another kiss, and then pulls them back towards the bed, clinging to them and yawning, the early morning rays of light crawling through the window and up the bed. It's still too early to get up, and he has cuddling to do, which they seem to agree with. "We've got all the time in the world." 

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many miragehound ideas... you will all be sick of me soon...
> 
> Find me on tumblr [here.](https://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com/)


End file.
